


Life-tired

by tioupfic



Category: Richard II - Shakespeare
Genre: (nothing graphic) - Freeform, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Recovery, Self-Hatred, Sort of? - Freeform, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Ideation, basically i haven't been able to sleep for the last three days so here take this fic, like self-hatred all the way up to heaven, mention of past non-con, recovery from torture, vague mention of - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 20:02:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19752841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tioupfic/pseuds/tioupfic
Summary: Lebensmüde: a general feeling of being utterly tired of life/on the verge of doing something stupid.Aumerle wakes up to find that Richard has started drinking today at 6 am. Then he insisted on talking about it. Richard is exhausted enough to agree.





	Life-tired

**Author's Note:**

> hello fandom, i am queer, i have insomnia, and i'm New In Town(tm). 
> 
> please accept my offering. it's pretty much what it says on the tin soo ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> oh i know what to say: the mentions of past-non con are really vague, and the suicidal ideation isn't discussed explicitly, it's more of a Dick Being Extra thing.

“Oh, Richard,” Edward sighed as he entered the kitchen and found the sometime-king attempting to get wasted at 6 AM. The worst thing, in Edward’s opinion, was that this was their new normal ever since he had broken Richard out of Pontefract. 

“Come back to bed, dearheart,” he continued, taking Richard’s arm and guiding him away from the alcohol. “Tell me what you dreamed.” 

Edward knew that Richard had been tortured at Pontefract; it was pretty impossible not to know. But he had no idea what specifically was haunting him, what could make a proud man humble, a vain man simple, and a king submissive. 

“Can’t, though,” Richard threw his head back dramatically as he tried to explain. His long hair brushed against Edward’s arm. “You’ll be sad,” he clarified as Edward laid him down in bed. 

“I promise I won’t be. Just please, talk to me,” Edward urged as he laid down next to Richard, rubbing his arm as Richard once did to him. 

Richard sighed and reached across the bed for a cigarette. “If I must do…” He leaned into Edward’s touch as he took a drag. Edward was good; he was safe; he never even mentioned that Richard was suddenly a smoker. It was a strange but wonderful juxtaposition to literally everyone else around him. 

So, taking another drag from his cigarette, Richard explained, “they… used whips and knives to punish my body, but they wanted to punish my soul as well.” He paused, gaging Edward’s reaction (confused). Richard sighed sadly as he tried to explain without saying the word. “as part of the torture they…” he chewed on his bottom lip as he struggled for words. “Ah, yes! You know how I like to sleep around for fun. It’s not fun if you’re an unwilling participant.” He paused, doing his best to keep any feelings out of his voice before he admitted, “it hurt.” 

“Your Majesty—”

“I am not.”

“Richard. That’s so cruel!” 

“Which? What they did or that I told you? You did ask, you know.”

“What they did, obviously,” Edward shoved lightly at his bedmate’s side. “Idiot.”

Richard smiled slightly, enjoying how boldly Edward could insult him. 

“They say if you want to know a man, judge him by the company he keeps.” Then he paused thoughtfully as he finished his cigarette and put it out. “I hate this. There’s a word in German we came across once, lebensmüde. It means life-tired. And I am very, very tired. And do you know what the worst part is, what hurts the most?”

Edward laid Richard back down from where he had been sitting up in bed and began rubbing his arm. “What?” he asked softly. 

“I think that was the first time in our life when we – when I – have truly been myself.”

Edward furrowed his brow in confusion. “How do you mean?”

“My entire adult life I’ve been the King. King Richard had to die for Richard to exist. And I discovered something in pain, in humiliation, devoid of friends.” He rolled over to face Edward. He hated what he was about to admit, but Ned had brought it on and unleashed the floodgates of the crux of the problem. “I discovered that I don’t like King Richard. And I likewise despise Richard. So, in the absence of my torturers, believing myself deserving of that pain, I seem to have taken up their job myself.” 

And that did it. Edward curled in on himself and clutched at Richard’s nightgown, sobbing. 

“I told you it would make you sad.” He paused briefly before wrapping his arms around Edward. “There, there,” he soothed. “I am sorry, dearheart. I’ve made you weep so many times, haven’t I? Well, I’ll be honest I did also cry when I came to that realization.” 

Edward looked up. “How could you say such awful things about the King I serve? The rightful King? The man I love? How can you hurt me by siding with Bolingbroke?” The name was said with so much acidity that Richard could almost taste it. 

Richard sighed. He’d gotten such little sleep all this time he wondered if life-tiredness could do what his torturers weren’t able to and kill him. ‘Here lies Richard of Bordeaux,’ he thought to himself, mentally composing his epitaph. ‘Sighed himself to death and succumbed himself to insomnia’s cruel waters.’ 

“Richard, dearest, you went off somewhere just now.”

“Ah, forgive me. Life is such tedious business, but your companionship allows us – me – to withstand it. There was one guard who was uncomfortable with the others’ torture methods. For him, I screamed the loudest. That small kindness of letting me sit, unharmed, during his shift was what buoyed me on with hope. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you in so crass a manner. Maybe in time I can become a Richard who I like.”

“Hm?” Edward inquired sleepily. Outside, the sun was rising. ‘Funny,’ Edward thought. ‘The sun is rising and Dickon along with it.’ Then he inquired, “What kind of Richard you be likable to you? Describe him to me, but forgive me if I doze a bit.”

Richard glanced down and saw that Edward really was on the verge of sleep. He smiled to himself. 

“A likable Richard would be one who can cope with his grief. He would seek out help. He would make a crying child smile again. He would be content to live a quiet life. He would allow himself to be known and to be loved and to be despised as he stutters his way through life. And… he would work on his composition in letter writing.” He looked down at Edward and smiled. “He would let himself be loved by you. And he would sleep. At last, he would sleep.”

It was tedious work; it required patience; it was annoying and frustrating.. But finally, Richard slept. And he awoke with a long-forgotten refreshed feeling.

**Author's Note:**

> i still can't get over the fact that one of his charges was essentially "bad at writing letters". wack.


End file.
